Busy like a Bumblebee
by ElitasLove
Summary: An injured Bumblebee was ordered to guard the femmes and they ended up with sparklings! The other mechs are jealous, more Cybertron femmes are arriving and Bumblebee still needs repair. G1 cartoon universe. Rated M for pairings. NEXT: Femmes go hunting
1. Chapter 1 Bee is left behind

**Notes:**Normally I would never write anything like this but this particular plot bunny would not leave me alone. I read a review comment where Optimus wondered if Bumblebee knew anything about femmes, figuring he didn't then a week later is holding his sparkling. Oops, he did! Plot bunny attack!

This looks like a few chapters ( I have 3 in progress right now ) but please set _**add story to story alert** _to know when they are added. I plan to get this posted quickly this week and get this plot bunny gone. Moreover, I am a femme so no complaints about femme bashing. There is NO SLASH or SLEAZE in this fic. It is a mech with a femme each time with unexpected results so yes, smut, interfacing, and sparking.

WARNINGS: Adult references to mating, interfacing and sparking. Rated M for a reason.

**CHAPTER 1**

**Mount St. Hillary, dormant volcano outside Portland, OR**

**The Autobot ship, **_**The Ark**_

"Bumblebee will stay behind and help guard the Ark while we are gone. Roulette and Flareup are inbound within the hour," Optimus reminded the femmes. He stood at the front of the Autobot line in his position as Prime. His red and blue armor shone in the light, displaying a vitality and strength only his military grade armor could. The mechs lined behind him in a perfect military order, all systems charged and ready for battle and waiting for the command to roll out. The femmes stood on the ark entrance side and looked unimpressed. Arcee and Moonracer remained by the stone wall while the other three femmes confronted their leader.

"We can guard ourselves," Firestar reminded. Her deep red armor reflected the light of the setting sun spectacularly.

"We are warriors," Chromia growled, the faintest trace of anger showing across the graceful alignment of her lighter blue faceplates. Her rifle lay across her arm, her dark blue armored fingers curled around the handle but not the trigger. Her reminder they were capable and armed warriors.

"Femmes do not need guarding Prime," Elita One said. The pink and white femme was smaller and lighter mass than the mech she faced but as commanding in her presence.

"Wrong choice of words Commander," he rumbled behind his silver battle mask. "The Decepticons are attacking all over the world and three of you have been the direct subject of their attacks. Bumblebee's transform sequencer was heavily damaged and Ratchet needs time to rebuild what he can not repair. He is to stay and monitor while our teams are dispersed throughout the continent. Do not let him talk you into releasing him off medical leave because he is walking. He cannot transform, use weapons or roll. The Decepticons would love such a target."

"Slagging 'Cons ain't giving us venting space either," Ironhide ground out. The old red armored warrior had been part of Bumblebee's rescue party and still burned with hate for what Starscream's cowardly attack on him and the two femmes had done. "Hitting targets then running and striking again ain't fighting. It's running away."

"Cowardice and destruction are mottos of the Decepticons," Prime reminded in his regal baritone. "Our teams will remain in contact but stay alert all of you. We cannot afford to lose even one of us here. Autobots transform and roll out!" The sound of their transforms into their alt modes was nearly overwhelming in the small space, quickly drowned out beneath the roaring of their engines,.

The femmes turned, retreating into the Ark as the mechs rolled away, kicking up dust and dirt.

"With a hearty hi ho silver and they are away," Arcee teased, closing her vents while moving away from the rolling dust cloud.

"Prime really should pave this outer area. In the winter it's mud and summer its dust." Elita One complained, waving to keep the dust off her pink armor.

"I don't mind," Firestar chirped. "Gives me an excuse to be in the wash racks."

"You and any mech you can trap there you mean," Chromia teased her friend. Moonracer giggled, waving as she turned down the hallway heading away from them for the command deck.

"When you and Ironhide aren't fragging each other in there you mean," Firestar teased right back, chuckling as the older dark blue femme vented rapidly as they all headed for the recreation room to plan their defenses.

"You know what I'm curious about?" Arcee began.

"Why the Decepticons are suddenly targeting us?" Elita One stated, her command processors having been working on the problem for days.

"No, why if Ironhide raised Bumblebee, having a reputation for serious chasing and catching of femmes before he met you Chromia, no offense," she looked towards the other femme before continuing. "And you two are known for doing it anywhere and at anytime. Why is Bumblebee never with any femme?"

Chromia vented hard, stopping and resisting the motion to clasp her armored hands together. "Ironhide has had "the talk" with him and more than once. We offered to answer any questions he had. Ratchet from a medical perspective and even Prime offered to listen if he needed someone to talk to.

"No wonder," Arcee vented in exasperation. "The mech who raised him, our leader who is the best exampled of what a true Autobot should be and an intimidating wrench throwing grumpy medic and you expect our youngest to ask them his most personal processing ideas and desires? Poor mech probably doesn't even know the words to frame his questions let alone to those three!"

Chromia tilted her helm, her optics dimming as she ran scenarios super fast. "You're probably right. Whom would you suggest? Hound, a fellow scout? If he is here long enough to ask that is and I am not sure he knows any more than Bumblebee. Mirage with his high-class ideas and aloft ways? Jazz with his wildness or Prowl with his rule happy stiff protocols?"

No femme there had an answer. Chromia began walking, the others following. Firestar's processor suddenly burned with an idea then she stopped, closing her lip plates firmly. 'It's my idea and I can see about making it work. Too much talking and not enough action has been the problem,' she reasoned.

**The Ark**

**Night Shift**

Firestar hummed, having picked up the trait from her time around humans. A check of the time showed Bumblebee would be arriving soon. 'Phase I, corner Bumblebee in the recreation room and get him to agree to come to my quarters to discuss things tonight, without specifying what to discuss. Check. Get my quarters clean and the right mood to romance said mech, check,' she processed. Her armor gleaned fresh from the wash racks, polished and shined. 'Hearing mech's footpads outside in the hallway, perfect.' She stepped away from the door, standing by the doorway to her private recharge area.

"May I come in?" He asked, his voice carrying clearly thorough the partially open door.

"It's open," she called, picking up a datapad and pretending to be studying what was on its screen. The mini bot limped in, his left foot barely dragging within its support bracing. She bit back a comment at the silver metal chest plate and arm pieces newly repaired, glaring against his normal bright yellow paint. "'Didn't even have time to paint them yet. Even one of his horn tips is missing.'

He gazed at her, aware of her reaction to his injuries but ignoring it. He had earned them in battle and he would be fully repaired soon enough. "What did you need to see me about?"

"Truthfully?" she began, setting the datapad down. On a silent signal, the door closed and locked behind him. "I want company tonight and I would prefer if it was you."

"The Ark is secure. All the perimeters are set and the main doors are sealed. Not even Megatron or Soundwave could break in here," Bumblebee stated proudly.

"I want you as a mech, if that is okay?" she stated then leaned against the wall. Her slender armored hands clasped each other by her midriff, showing off her distinct femme design in her chest plates and inward molded hips.

"Me?" He squeaked then recovered. "Mech me?"

She nodded then stood up, walking and entering her private room in two steps. She looked back over her shoulder, making a come here gesture when he remained stationary. His optics shuttered rapidly then he slowly walked forward, optics intense on her.

"Is this a joke? Are you taping me for Sunstreaker or Sideswipe? I'm not a prank target," he folded his arms across his Volkswagen molded front chest, looking stern.

"No joke," she murmured, sliding back onto the recharge berth. Sitting, she faced him, her legs bent at the knees while she rested her arms across them and her head on her arms. Her optics were intense.

"You never asked before," he relaxed a little, moving closer and unfolding his arms.

"You were never available before," she challenged, leaning up and off her legs, sliding them out a little further and swinging her knees out.

"You really want me?" He asked.

She moved her legs wider, clicking her interface port open. He immediately looked away, his cooling fans kicking higher.

"I can explain what to do," she offered.

"I uhm, know what to do. Medical tapes," he stammered out, still not looking her direction, his side horn nearly blocking her view of his faceplates.

"Have you even touched a femme?" She regarded the bright yellow armored yellow bot.

"Of course! To grab one out of the line of fire and when I help in med bay." He faced her direction, tilting his head up high in almost comical way to focus his optics on her optics and nothing else below them. "I have very skilled hands. Small and agile enough to reach almost anywhere and sensitive enough to align the most delicate parts. If I were a full size bot, I would be a medic like Ratchet. "

"Skilled hands huh? Okay," she nodded making a decision. Her interface port closed with a distinct click and she shifted her legs together before tucking them under her. She laid down full length on her side and patted the recharge berth. "Lay beside me and talk. Tell me what you know medically."

He hesitated and she softened her gaze, telling her active systems to go into standby. "I promise not to jump, grab or force you Bumblebee. Talk only and you can show me what you know with your hands without touching anywhere but my arm. Then if you want, you can leave and I will never mention this to any bot and we are what we have always been, friends and Autobots. Agreed?"

He nodded, relieved and embarrassed at the same time. He moved to the bunk, hopping up and laying down beside her but nearly hanging off the edge.

Firestar scooted back until she was tight against the wall. "Come here, I won't hurt you."

He scooted closer, cooling fans shifting lower into a more normal pattern. "Your arm has the standard triple armor defensive plating but here," he pressed lightly and she winced. "Is old damage to your protoform below at the joint and vulnerable. But if I press here while applying a small magnetic pulse," he grinned when she gasped and writhed, nearly jerking her arm away.

"Wow! That feels good," she exclaimed, her optics spinning a little faster.

"Pleasure overrides the pain sensor in that area. Competing waves of energy trigger a programmed response. The magnetic pulse and the pressure both are required to do it," he explained.

"Where else does that combination work?"

"Your shoulder plates, your middle back and a few other places, none intimate," he answered, moving up towards her shoulder.

'And that's how it starts,' she processed triumphantly then shivered as the intense pulse radiated out from her back shoulder and through her sensitive neck cables.

**Recreation Room**

**Next Morning**

"I have been fragged by the best," Firestar vented softly, flopping onto the long couch. Her comment had every femme's instant attention.

"The best huh? Who would that be?" Chromia asked, taking a sip of her energon cube.

"Not be, Bumblebee," she chortled.

"What!"

"You didn't?"

"No way!"

"Yes many many ways," she laughed, pulling her feet against her chest and folding her arms around them as she regarded the astonished femmes. "Took awhile for him to relax but oh wow! First two overloads I still had my interface port closed."

"Then how?" Arcee asked, narrowing her optics.

"Those wonderful dainty armored hands of his. They can go in places you would not believe and he has been medically trained by Ratchet, did you know that? He knows every sensor relay, every pulse point to make you feel every touch and magnetic pulse into processor blowing overload without even nearing your port," she smiled in memory.

"So you two never?" Firestar asked, wanting to know the important part.

"Oh, we did eventually. He's a scout, use to going all night on stakeout and tracking a subject for days with minimum recharge," the femme reminded.

"But his size… I mean isn't he?" Elita One asked.

"Small? Not really. He is well developed but even him fragging me multiple times was great! I pulled out of recharge and was not sore one slagging bit! No torn filtering between my outer plates, no protoform bruising from repeated banging metal on metal, and no inside wall damage. I swear he mapped out and targeted every sensor node I had inside and hit them all repeatedly but softly." Her faceplates warmed as continued talking. "Skill, skill and pure skill. The best without any damage and then we…" she stopped, not wanting to reveal the last event.

"Fell into recharge?" Arcee finished with a sigh. "How romantic. The fighter and the mini bot."

"Recharge?" she snorted. "More like stasis after that intensity. I already downed two energon cubes to get here. I went temporarily offline three times during our activities. What does that tell you?" She stretched out, leaning back against the padded side of the super sized couch. "I need an afternoon recharge to recover. "

"Not possible," Elita stated. "Chromia and I are checking the outer patrol perimeter and you have control room duty. "

"I will be there in a breem," she agreed while hiding a smile at their last event. 'His spark was so bright and powerful then that power hit mine. I felt that charge to my feet pads. Still feel an echo of it. Hard to be with any other bot after that. Time for more energon then back to work." If she checked her own internal diagnostics they would have registered a special set of protocols running. Ones that protected the forming energy essence below her main spark.

The day passed quickly and evening found Firestar returning to her room alone. "I am so tired. Feel like I've been battling all day. A good long recharge, that's what I need." The door pad recognized her, opening long enough for her to enter then shutting. Bumblebee peeked around the far corner, feeling guilty. "Last night was wonderful and I enjoyed it. Ironhide was right. Femmes are fantastic and should be loved and taken care of gently. Stupid mechs that are rough," he grumped. "I could never hurt a femme." He crept by her door, quiet as only a scout could. Two doors down, the room door slid open, allowing him inside.

"I hear you are the best," Arcee greeted him.

"Aw shucks," he blushed, feeling his face plates warm.

"I have a cog out of alignment in my shoulder, can you help?" She asked in sincerity, the damaged piece tweaking her pain relay as she sat on the edge of the recharge berth.

He quietly and expertly repaired her shoulder cog, sliding the armor plating back into place when done. A few magnetic pulses and pressure tweaks and she was practically pulling him on top of her. The night passed quickly, Arcee finally falling into deep recharge. Her pink and white form was sprawled sideways across her recharge berth, the area stained with their combined fluids.

From the chair in the next room, Bumblebee watched her. He chuckled, fingering a deep set of bite marks on his one intact horn tip. "I never knew she could scream like that in an overload. And the sparking is intense." He rubbed one armored hand over his spark, feeling drained and a little sore on his protoform below. "Definitely more active than Firestar in her movements but paint marks rub out." He rose to his feet, careful of his bent leg and brace before hobbling back towards his own quarters.

In the control room, Elita One requested an identity check of all Cybertronian energy signatures within the ark and relaxed when hers and Chromia were in the command room and the others each in their own quarters.

"Quiet night tonight," she remarked, adding a note to the log entry.

"Best type to have" Chromia half answered, busy reviewing the field entries from the field teams.

In her room, Arcee shifted, twitching only for an astro second as a special set of protocols activated, protecting the forming energy essence below her main spark. The Ark's sensors were unable to detect its faint existence as it had the one Firestar carried.

_To be continued…_


	2. Chapter 2 One plus one makes three

Notes: Yeah! People are reading this fic and seem to be enjoying it. Plan is for Bumblebee to continue then the other Autobots to return and they decide to pair up with the femmes, a few forming a permanent spark relationship and helping to raise the sparklings (once discovered). Moreover, this is a bit more adult and smutty per reader requests but still not my main style of writing. I did try. Canon pairings to start so Optimus and Elita, Ironhide and Chromia, Ratchet and Moonracer for sure. Prowl to get a femme too and not sure who else yet.

**CHAPTER TWO  
THE DISCOVERY OF WHO IS COMING**

Bumblebee snuggled, feeling the strong metal arms wrap around him, fingers rubbing across his helm as the femme voice murmured too softly for him to hear the words but enough to feel the emotion they carried. He sighed, opening his optics then blinked at the darkness.

"Here," a femme voice said, thermal images showing her armored hand sliding across the light sensor. The ceiling lights brightened, revealing Flareup sharing his recharge berth.

"Flareup. Why are you?" he sputtered, pulling back from her warm chassis.

"I wanted company and you were alone," she answered, her blue optics bright.

"I sleep alone. Do you know how dangerous it was for you to sneak in here?" He grabbed both her hands in his tightly. "I'm a scout! We react to protect ourselves. I could have blasted you before my optics were even open," he vented hard, distressing.

She raised on armored hand to cup his face gently. "You're on the injured list. Ratchet disabled your weapons and transform. I knew he would disable your instant reactions to prevent sneaking around those overrides. He did that to me last year."

"He never said," the young yellow armored scout grumped, fingering the broken tip of his horn. "Warned me repairs would be slow and some programs would be offline but not which ones." He glanced down at his leg brace, hating the external metal display of his injuries.

"I'm guessing your auto updater with Teletran is down too?" she asked, sliding up on one elbow to watch him more intently.

"Why?"

"Nothing happened, relax," she trailed one finger across the center of his yellow helm and out the tip of his intact side horn, watching him smile at the caress. "Your door is locked so we won't be disturbed. Elita and Chromia changed shifts and are recharging by now. Moonracer and Roulette are command deck. Firestar and Arcee were getting energon when I came here. The mech teams report signs of damage but no direct contact with the Decepticons. And you over slept your morning check-in with medical, being me today an hour ago."

He chuckled, rolling his optics at her. "House calls? I'm touched."

"Not yet but I would like too. Are you up to this?" she asked, relying on his answer. His external battle damage bothered her even as Ratchet's reports reassured her it was parts replacements and not spark threatening as it might appear.

"This being me fragging you?" he asked merrily, his lip plates forming a wide smile.

"Bee!" She gasped and giggled in embarrassment. "You make it sound so mechanical and plain."

"Hmm," he processed. "May I make your spark sing and your vocals scream as I delight your valve into ecstasy?"

She laughed, too embarrassed to answer, ducking her head down into the recharge covers. She felt his touch on her hip plate then relaxed as his deft fingers tapped out a sore spot. "How did you know?" She looked up and over at him.

"Way you move when you walk. Ironhide's entire hip was shattered and partially rebuilt, making him limp. I recognized the same hesitation, though smaller in your movements," he admitted, concentrating on moving under the edge of her armor to ease the sensor node.

"Ironhide? You don't?"

"Slag no!" he yelped, sitting up and nearly falling of the recharge berth. "I would never touch a mech like that and certainly not him!"

"Chromia?" she realized, mentally kicking herself for missing the obvious.

"Yes, Chromia. She came to med bay to adjust her finger cogs after helping him so much. Wore out a servo resetting his sensor relays. She explained how to ease a overworked node while Ratchet repaired her and I waited for my systems to be rebuilt."

"I bet she overworked on him," she purred, laying her head down on her arm.

"Processor out of the cleaning tunnels," he wriggled a stubby yellow metal finger at her. "Repairs are not replacements. This spot," he pressed as she writhed, shifting her leg restlessly from the feeling inside its neural pathways. "Is medical and not physical alone."

"You're the one that mentioned fragging me," she reminded.

"Is that all you want?" he asked leaning his faceplates close to hers. "I can do that and spark too."

Her valve cover slid over with a click as the transforming sound signaled the gap beginning to form in her chest plates. "How about both?"

"Can do," he smirked, sliding his hand down her hip plates and to her valve opening. Gently, he traced the edge with his fingers, feeling her lubricant beginning to seep. "I do need a medical opinion on my strength and endurance," he teased, slipping one finger in gently and teasing around the inner edge. Her reply was a low moan. Purple lubricant seeped down his fingers and he nodded. He pulled back, grabbing and removing his crotch cover before signaling his spike to release from its internal housing as his spark began to pulse.

BEEP BEEP BEEP

Bumblebee opened his optics to darkness and frowned. A heavy weight lay against and partially on him, causing a moment of panic before his memory cores came online. "Flareup, I remember," he smirked, running one hand across her armor. He remote keyed the lights to their low setting, seeing her in full recharge.

"My energon alarm woke me. I need to refuel and it's almost noon," he realized, sliding out from under her and off the recharge berth. "Uh, clean up first," he realized, looking down at himself. Dark trans oil spotted his waist where his spike recessed as well as her purple valve lubricant. Absently, he rubbed at his chest plates, feeling an ache in his spark. She stirred, waking up and looking his direction.

"That was fantastic," she purred, totally relaxed. "Hmm, I don't hurt anywhere, my memories are great and you are a bad little mech. Teasing me and making me endure that many frags and spark overloads."

"You did ask for both," he leaned in, running his lip plates over hers before subspacing out a cleaning cloth. "We need to refuel. I don't keep energon in here." They both wiped away the obvious traces before leaving to grab energon and go their separate ways. Bumblebee went to the designated mech side of the wash racks and enjoyed the quiet of the room.

Flareup returned to the room she shared with the other two femmes and used their private wash racks. It had no mirror, broken the week before in an accident or she would have seen the small light essence forming under her spark when scrubbing at the yellow paint on the edge of her open chest plate but didn't.

Two hours later Elita tracked her down to ask about updating medical records and found them all in the recreation room.

:: Chromia, did I miss anything lately?:: Elita One sent on their internal comm line.

::No why? Perimeter sensors triggering?:: Chromia answered.

::Bumblebee is on the main couch, in full recharge with Firestar, Arcee and Flareup cuddling around him, also in recharge:: Elita One

::Awww, how cute. Poor mini mech took quite a beating. Nice to see the unpaired femmes getting protective over him. Beginning to worry only we mated femmes used our protocols:: Chromia

::I want them to use their processors. If they are playing and goofing off at night instead of recharging that does not leave them battle ready:: Elita One complained.

::Ease up commander. Our late night room check showed them alone in their own quarters remember? Bumblebee loves online games and so does Firestar. Arcee probably was listening to her music collection, practically beats out Jazz for number of songs and Flareup was reading med reports. Ratchet is hard enough to understand let alone his reports. She was worried about Bumblebee's injuries, mentioned it to me twice now:: Chromia

::Good point. The Twins would have been trouble or half the other mechs come to process it:: Elita One

::Only half? See you at shift:: Chromia teased then closed the comm line.

That afternoon, the first teams began arriving back, hitting the wash racks then their recharge berths for much needed recharge time. Optimus and his officers went to the command deck while Ratchet brought in Tracks and Brawn, both hurt from a cliff collapsing under their weight while investigating a possible sighting of Laserbeak. The femmes greeted their friends and fellow warriors but avoided Ratchet, knowing his grumpy attitude about accidents.

**Recreation Room**

**Early Evening**

Ratchet entered the recreation area, grumping about unnecessary injuries and thick-chipped mechs when he looked at Firestar, nearly tripping as his sensitive scans registered her energy signatures. "Primus!" he swore and moved towards her, his red and white frame weaving around the other mechs talking and sipping energon. "I need to talk to you in private right now," he cupped her elbow joint in his hand then frowned when she stepped back.

"I am not going anywhere with that attitude mister nasty bot. Show some manners," the femme growled, instinctively folding her arms across her chest protectively.

"I'm chief medical officer and I have the right to order you into med bay for your own good,' he hissed, not wanting to make a scene on what he knew was her condition.

"I'm fine. In fact," her lip plates formed a wide grin as her optics blazed. "I have never felt better. "

He vented softly, feeling the optics of the others in the room watching. There was no way she was going to go with him and he was not about to injure or risk injuring her to force her. "You are carrying a sparkling," he said.

Gasps met his announcement from the mechs as she giggled. "Sparkling? Hah! That would require that I…uhm…" she trailed off, counting rapidly and pulling internal medical reports. "Oh pit."

"You are?" Jazz's visor blazed bright blue as he moved closer. "You really are, I mean she is?" he asked Ratchet who nodded. He froze then up linked to the Autobot command deck.

::Hey all! Ratchet just announced Firestar is carrying a sparkling essence! There gonna be a baby bot here!:: Jazz

Optimus felt his jaw gears go slack behind his battle mask as Prowl twitched his monochromatic door wings, his logic glitch nearly offlining him. Ironhide raised an armored fist triumphantly while the other Autobots began chattering in their native language.

::Optimus to Ratchet. Can you confirm Firestar is carrying?:: Prime

::How slagging fast does news travel on this ship? Never mind. Yes, she is carrying a sparkling essence:: Ratchet

::How long?:: Prime

::I will know shortly, we are en route to med bay now. I am guessing about one earth day:: Ratchet

::How is that possible? There were no mechs around then:: Prime

::Bumblebee was:: Ratchet reminded then felt the comm line close with a snap. He had almost reached med bay with Firestar when Ironhide's frantic comm call boomed across his systems.

::MEDICAL EMERGENCY! REPEAT MEDICAL EMERGENCY ON THE COMMAND DECK:: Ironhide

::What happened?:: Ratchet pointed at Firestar for his assistant First Aid to attend to her then broke into a full tilt run for the nearest elevator.

::Prime is in stasis shock. Keeled over without a word:: Ironhide

::That all? Lug head! You had me worried. Slap him and bring him around. I am in the elevator now. Be there shortly:: Ratchet sent, waiting for the doors to open. They slid open and he shot out, running down the hall and around the corner. Arcee flattened against the wall as he passed then yelped as he tried sliding to a stop. Tried as he was going too fast, turning his upper body to get a double scan of her energy signatures. Force times mass times twist and KAWHAM! He fell hard, sliding as systems reset. A blurry Arcee moved into his line of vision.

"You okay? That looked like that hurt," she asked, bending down to help him up. His medically multi layered scanning optics focused on her chest plates and the unique energy signatures behind them.

"Primus! You're carrying a sparking too," he said quietly.

"What? No way, I was…with….uhm," she stopped, counting and pulling internal medical records.

::Where are you? Prime is coming around but dazed:: Ironhide

::With Arcee in the outer hallway from the command center. She is carrying a sparkling too:: Ratchet sent

::Two femmes? How the matrix spark did that occur?:: Ironhide

::I think I know but for now get Prime back in his chair and hold him there. His balance compensators are slow to rest. Be there shortly:: Ratchet

He strode onto the command deck, seeing Elita and frowned. He focused his medical scanners on her then vented in relief. 'Only her signature and nothing else. Then again,' he mentally kicked himself, 'She is spark mated to a Prime and would never look the way of another mech."

_To be continued...._


	3. Chapter 3 The buzz surrounding

Author's Notes: The aftermath of the fun continues. Most of the Autobots have returned to the Ark and learned what happened. They are an alien mechanical race facing extinction after thousands of years of war and now their youngest scout has sparked. While similar to humans, their ways are not our ways. More surprises next chapter.

**Chapter Three**

**What comes next**

The Ark's recreation room was nearly full with mechs and femmes. Elita and Chromia represented their side while watching the animated discussion. Laughs, grumbles and comments flowed around them.

"We can guard ourselves' Firestar stated when we left. Never thought they would need guarding from Bumblebee," Trailbreaker noted, his conversation louder than the others at that moment.

"Who guards the guardian?" Huffer grumped.

Optimus raised a hand to pinch his nose plates above his battle mask. His balance compensator kept his twenty-eight foot plus frame steady after several resets and medical coding ensured they stayed that way. His growing headache was another matter.

Ratchet opened his lip plates to speak when overridden.

"This is your fault!" Jazz snapped, pointing a stubby silver finger at Ironhide. His blue visor blazed with the intensity of his emotions. "You corrupted our sweet little mech! Turned him into some kind of lust bot!"

"Me? I didn't tell him to go frag every femme!" Ironhide countered. The red armored warrior growled even as he felt guilty. His youthful escapades were worse but no femme had ever sparked and only Chromia had remained online as the war progressed. Time hid his past but he had told Bumblebee about it.

"We didn't," Wheeljack's sidebars flashed angry red and black colors. The inventor twitched his fingers, anxious to continue designing sparkling shells and transfer chambers.

"Peace!" Optimus commanded, pointing at them both. "Regardless of who or how he learned, we need to deal with this situation. This meeting is to find answers, not make accusations. You were saying Ratchet?"

"I never installed the sequencing protocols to prevent him from fully merging his spark with an active female because I deemed him too young," he admitted into the silence.

"And now?" Mirage asked. The aristocratic spy merely raised an optic arch as he stood among the other scouts and spies.

"The aft view is always perfect," Ratchet snapped.

"He probably saw a lot of afts," Hound joked, hearing laughter and chuckling. The green scout dropped his optics as Optimus glared at him.

"What about the femmes? They have locking protocols to prevent sparking on their side as well. Never sparked with any of us," Sideswipe complained. The idea the mini bot had a better reputation than any other mech with the femmes was irksome.

"They do but it is at their discretion. The program locks can conflict with their sensor arrays. Most leave them on if they know they are going to be sparking. None of them considered Bumblebee as a potential parental mech and did not have them engaged," the medic explained.

"Every merge doesn't equal a sparkling," Ironhide reminded, staring at Chromia. They had tried a few times to create a sparkling and failed each time.

"No, they don't. I am still unsure why but every time Bumblebee sparked and interfaced with a femme, they conceived. A bright powerful little spark. His youth is a factor as is his condition. Half of his systems were offline with repairs or battle damage, allowing all his energon and spark power to be rerouted. His… unique background," Ratchet's optics flickered for a moment. "Could be a factor."

"You mean not knowing where he came from? Being found an orphan sparkling?" Sunstreaker puzzled out.

"Making him want to create his own family? Never processed that. Now that's sad," Jazz realized. Ratchet kept silent, as did Optimus and Ironhide though they all exchanged an optic glance.

"And what does Bumblebee have to say about all this?" Elita One asked. The pink armored femme commander finally spoke. Internally she was delighted as a femme to have sparklings on the way even as a war commander she feared the Decepticons finding out.

"We notified him once we were certain he was involved," Prowl stated. His black and white wing doors were still straight up in shock. The Autobot second in command could deal with most situations using his training and logic. Carrying femmes were not part of that training. Then again, his obsession with duty and his work left little time for femmes or interaction with them.

"We will ask," Optimus said, raising his left arm. The wrist communications hatch popped up, the display showing Bumblebee sitting in the waiting area of med bay. "Please attend the meeting in the recreation room." Then the signal line closed and the arm hatch resealed.

Minutes later, the main doors opened and the small yellow Volkswagen beetle rolled in, transforming up into his bi pedal mode. Bumblebee stood straight but kept his head and optics down. His missing helm horn, unpainted metal arm and chest plates were reminders of his recovering injuries. The sound of his leg brace clicking with every step focused their optics on his damaged leg. The twins snickered at the bite marks on his intact horn as he passed by them to stand before Optimus.

"You understand the seriousness of the situation?" Optimus began. A silent nod. The ancient Prime crossed his red armored arms across his simulated glass chest armor, glad his facemask hid his amused expression. 'I remember Alpha Trion calling me to lecture when he discovered Elita and I spark merged. I too nodded and kept quiet. Must be a young mech tradition.'

"And?" Ironhide prompted, moving closer to the youngling he had cared for.

"Scouts are suppose to lead the way?" Bumblebee quipped, optics wide and innocent from his younger days.

Optimus vented hard, tapping metal fingers rapidly on his upper arm plate. He stalled to allow the snickers and groans to quiet down. "Did you now the sparklings would happen?" he finally asked.

"No, not really. I mean I knew in theory like going too fast on a road and you miss the curve," Bumblebee began.

"Miss?" Sunstreaker exclaimed, waving his yellow arms all direction.

"You hit every femme you fragged!" his red twin sideswipe finished.

"I didn't know they would carry my sparklings but I will take full responsibility for my actions and to be responsible for them," he answered truthfully, his military training showing in his proper stance and calm faceplate expression.

"Meaning?" Ratchet asked, his optics narrowing.

"I will provide and assist the femmes in any way I can and be the parental mech to the sparklings in every way I can. They will have my love and I will be there for them," he stated.

"If that means never leaving this ship again for a thousand year until they are old enough to endure alone? Never scouting or being with your human friends again?" Optimus asked, his regal baritone serious.

Bumblebee's optics dimmed as he processed then looked up, firming the edges of his lip plates. "Yes sir. I have never run from problems and I understand the requirement of sacrifices. It is not their fault this happened."

"Hah!" Ironhide commented. "One spark plus one spark makes three."

"Be that as it may, we will all assist. To date," Optimus winked an optic at Bumblebee where the other mechs could not see him do it. "I have had fourteen mech requests for adoption and two requests for permission to pursue and attempt a full bonding merge with said carrying femme once she has delivered."

"Seriously?" Bumblebee shuttered his optics rapidly. His amazed face looked from one mech to the other.

"Why not?" Tracks asked, his vocals carrying a hint of surprise. "You showed us the femmes want to be femmes as long as we give them loving and not use them for our needs." The blue mech nodded as sounds of agreement came from the others.

"And who don't want a sparkling? Life gotta keep going somehow, war or not," Jazz commented. The black and white armored spy missed taking care of a sparkling. His overtures to the carrying femmes had received a definite no but he never missed getting what he wanted. And there were femmes still to ask.

"The Cybertron femmes remained on our base there but it is a matter of time before we are discovered," Elita joined the conversation again. "Now, on earth we can have sparklings and pursue more than energon scraping runs or fighting? Pit yes the femmes are interested," she said. Her lip plate twitched with the unspoken information several femmes had requested permission to pursue Bumblebee. They wanted a sparking and he was a guaranteed way to get one without the mech attachments usually required. Her firm 'no' had fallen into deaf audios.

Ratchet's comm beeped and he glanced at it, frowning as the information displayed. "Bumblebee," his tone carried a hint of anger. "Did you spark merge with Flareup too? Never mind, my reports indicate she is a third carrying femme."

"Three strikes, you're out!" Jazz quipped. Laughter and happy sounds filled the room even as Optimus and Ironhide watched the young scout. His face plates heated, his movements slow as thought working out a decision.

"Out with it youngling," Ironhide grunted.

"Ratchet, have you checked Roulette?" he asked, rubbing the back of his yellow helm with his hand.

The medic sagged. "Four?"

"Glad you were wounded or we'd have our own army of sparklings," Sunstreaker teased.

_To be continued..._


	4. Chapter 4 Unexpected side effects

Author's Notes: Bumblebee has a side effect from all his wild spark merging and adding a twist to the storyline. Yes, there is a plot more than multiple merges between mechs and femmes. Thanks to reviewers and their suggestions. Will work them in as I can.

Cybertron time – Breem is 8.3 minutes, Joor is 6.5 hours, Orn is 13 days and Vorn is 84 years.

**Chapter Four**

**Rogue Sparkling**

Inside the Ark, two mini bots continued their conversation as they walked down the main corridor. "Sunstreaker nearly blew a processor! Especially when the femme said, 'My mistake. I wanted the other yellow bot to be my mech," Cliffjumper chuckled. The red mech had been tossed by the larger warrior one too many times to not enjoy his public humiliation.

Bumblebee winced, hobbling along with his leg brace clanking on every other step. The past two days had him on the repair list but unable to fit the time in with every other bot preparing for the arriving sparklings. "The femmes are targeting me worse than a Decepticon," he half grumped. "The next three days I am going to live in med bay as each delivers and bonding time with the new lives."

"I heard they were all accounted for. Pairings and such," he asked his blue optics thoughtful.

"They are but I made a commitment to be responsible to them even if that means watching them shelled and handed over to another mech," he answered. "I'm glad I am not in the brig or exiled. The teasing I can handle and the femmes will tire of me eventually. I need the rest." The young scout stumbled, pressing one yellow armored servo to his chest plates as his spark pulsed. His optics dimmed out before resetting to half power.

"You functional?" The other mech braced him by his shoulder plates, peering at him.

"Odd spark pulse."

"Med bay now. No arguments," he stated.

"Cliffjumper, I don't need..."

"Hah! Sparking with every femme, who knows what you caught," he warned.

"They caught me," he quipped, joining in his friend's laughter.

"Still, us mini bots need to stick together. And I owe you. Saved me from the' Cons more than once."

Five minutes later the med bay double doors slid open, revealing Ratchet tinkering with spare parts. "Who dares disturb me when I'm, oh? And?" He regarded both mini mechs warily, a silver wrench sliding into his open hand.

"His spark is acting up. Nearly dropped him in the hallway," Cliffjumper pointed agitatedly at the yellow scout.

"No, it didn't. It flared and...Ahh!" He yelped as Cliffjumper planted both hands on his back plates and shoved. Hard. He stumbled forward, grabbing onto the medical berth for balance. His friend and roommate advanced, causing him to reflexively hop up onto the berth to escape him.

Ratchet dropped the wrench to the counter top, grabbing an advanced scanner instead. 'For Cliffjumper to be worried and Bee to admit a problem it's serious,' he processed rapidly. Full medical protocols activated, switching him from friend to Chief Medical Officer, tasked with keeping them online and functional.

A minute later his advanced blue optics read the scanner report in disbelief. "Cliffjumper, find Wheeljack. He is not answering his comm signal. Tell him I need him. Have something he needs to assist with. Bumblebee," he focused his optics on him intently while keeping his white faceplates without an expression. "Stay here and relax. You have an odd part that needs moving around your spark spires. Nothing serious but will take half a joor to adjust."

The med bay doors opened, the red minibot leaving as Elita strode through. Her pink and white armored form move with purpose. "You called and said it was urgent?"

"We have a situation," Ratchet pointed at Bumblebee sitting on the medical berth. "He's carrying a rogue transfer sparkling essence."

"No way in the pit!" Bumblebee exclaimed, his horns flashing as his helm swung side to side in denial. "I'm a mech! Ask any femme I've sparked with!"

"Ratchet! How could he?" Elita sputtered, waving her pink armored hands around.

"Calm down both of you," he commanded. "With the amount of energy you and those femmes were exchanging an essence formed and attached to the wrong spark. It happens."

"How often?" she narrowed her optics, obviously searching the medical databases.

"Rare but I need your help. His system cannot maintain it being a mech. Shortly his safety protocols will change it from unknown to a threat and destroy it. Our only hope of saving it is an immediate transfer."

"To me? Are you crazy?" Elita vented, backing away from them both.

"To an unbonded femme! You," he pointed at her. "Need to find one that is not spark carrying and willing to be a parental femme and fast. As femme commander you can find out. I am not asking them to become a spark carrier, it would be a misuse of my medical authority."

"What about the true femme?" Bumblebee asked, one hand pressed over his armor.

"No way of telling. Right now it is drawing on your spark, altering its energy signature. Once it attaches to the new femme it will adapt again. Only at this early stage is it transferrable without shattering it apart. Best guess would be that, a guess. If we do not transfer it quickly, it will not matter. We'll lose it," Ratchet checked the scanner readings again.

"Let me cross check with Chromia. I've been tied up with battle reports all morning while she reviewed the personnel files of the new arrivals," Elita stated, her optics dimming as she conferred over internal comm. "She has the solution, stay put she says." The femme commander shrugged then leaned back against the counter.

"You warned her to be discreet I hope?" the Chief Medical Officer asked.

"First thing. She is not the type to spread rumors," she corrected. Her expression became thoughtful as she regarded the young bot sitting before her. 'I want a sparkling and Chromia wants one. Our mates have tried and failed. One more piece to the breeding puzzle for Ratchet to solve. Then we can have ours. Not that I haven't minded trying with Optimus,' she processed.

The med bay doors opened, allowing Ironhide and Chromia to enter. "We'll take it," Ironhide said.

"You're mated," Ratchet narrowed his optics, directing his comment only to Chromia.

"And unable to spark our own essence so far," she countered. "We want one and consider Bee part of our family." The blue armored femme 's stance was defiant as her mates.

"I raised 'im. Slagging good job too," Ironhide stated firmly, crossing his red armored arms.

Ratchet glanced over at Elita then Bumblebee before nodding. "Chromia, sit there and offline all your battle protocols and weapons. I need to give you an injection of modified coding to stimulate your protections and carrying protocols or you will reject the essence." He watched her obey as her mate moved closer, wrapping one arm around her waist plates.

"Altering her femme coding?" Ironhide's grip tightened on her. "Any side effects?"

"She'll be loopy. " He readied the injection, then noticed their blank looks. "Sorry human term. A little...distracted in her attention span. Moreover, intensely romantic but no sparking! Not until the essence is shelled. Interface all you want but no spark merging. I need to inject down into your protoform. Brace yourself." She vented hard but stayed quiet as the extra long needle punched through a gap in the battle armor into her delicate frame below. The hypo injector beeped and her optics dimmed as systems reacted to the coding. "Medically accepted," he smiled as her optics narrowed to their tightest focus. "What normally takes a joor will load almost immediately."

"Easy 'Mia," Ironhide supported her as she sagged, laying her gently back on the medical berth. Her optics slid closed as her system hum increased. Ratchet passed her scanner over her frame, nodding at the readings. "Almost there then we can transfer."

"Why did you need Wheeljack?" Bumblebee asked.

"To verify your coding and processors. He helped design your current shell and system upgrades. While rare, there are precedents for spark back flares on the mech or corrupted coding. I will monitor Chromia and the essence while he verifies. I do need to place you into temporary stasis to slow your spark; you can review the transfer on tape later. "

The young mech considered it, knowing how dangerous a back flare could be. "I'm ready." His cry of pain as the deep needle punched into his protoform was ignored by the others. He grimaced as the hypo injector flooded coding into his systems. His optics dimmed, shuttering close as Ratchet eased him flat on his back plates.

Ironhide could never repeat exactly what happened even as he watched it live. His optics saw only the sparkling essence in the transfer tongs passing before him and down into Chromia's open chest cavity. "It's tiny."

"It's barely formed," he reminded, his medically trained hands steady to lower it to her spark. The faintest sizzle sound and it attached, her own spark light wrapping around it as a protective shield before settling. "Perfect attachment. She will stay in deep recharge for half a joor. When she onlines take her back to your quarters but be careful."

"I won't hurt her," he grumbled.

"She might you! Hyper protocols beyond normal."

"Throw me on the berth and want to interface?" he formed a grin on his lip plates as one hand caressed her face plates lovingly.

"Throw you on the floor and pound you into pieces," he warned. The smirk on the weapons specialists' faceplates brought a groan from him. "Repairs and repaints coming I know it."

Two earth hours later Bumblebee pulled out of recharge to a darkened room. Feeling the softness under him, he recognized a recharge berth. Stretching out both arms, the sides evaded his reach. Way wider than his and he was alone. Sensors detected no furnishings or decorations on the walls. 'Guest quarters? Or the brig? Never been there.' The door opened slowly, allowing light into the room to reveal Ratchet standing in the doorway.

"Where am I?"

"My quarters. You're confined here for the duration," he said, reading the medical scanner he held.

"Am I in trouble?"

The chief medic vented, a short raspy sound. "If you call sparking more essences in a week than most mechs in a lifetime as trouble, then yes. Truth is you are in hiding. I rarely use these quarters. Moonracer has her own rooms that we use to...ahem. As Chief Medical Officer, should the worse happen this could double as a spare triage holding area. Equipped and fully secure. "

"I need medical care?" He vented faster, his optics widening a little.

"No. Wheeljack confirmed your coding was intact. We are keeping you from the femmes that arrived from Cybertron an hour ago. Any activity would strain your systems. You still need repair on your leg struts and your transform processor is fragmented. Recharge and do not leave this room until I clear you medically. Prime or one of the others will check on you later. If you will excuse me, I have more sparklings shells to make."

Bumblebee woke to noise and the presence of a massive shape nearby.

"Easy," Optimus regal baritone encouraged before the lights slowly raised. "Brought you energon per Ratchet's orders." He watched with amusement as the normal reserved scout grabbed the cubes, gulping them down without regard to manners.

"I never meant for this to happen," he admitted, wiping at the blue spots of energon down his front armor he'd spilled in his haste.

'Like a sparkling himself,' Optimus processed. He sat down, wrapping one arm gently around the mini bot. "We could have lost you." The little yellow scout relaxed, as he had done as a youngling in need of comfort.

"I'm sorry. I didn't think about anything but the pleasure," he admitted, his vocal tone soft.

The bigger mech chuckled, his rumbling nearly shaking the bot leaning against his side. "Mechs since Cybertron's creation have had that problem. Apology accepted. And count yourself lucky. Ratchet discovered the essence for transfer before it was lost or a back surge occurred."

"I never knew it was there," he said.

"Neither did I when it happened to me," Optimus vented as his faceplates warmed.

"When it what?" He stared up at the large red and blue armored mech.

"I'm serious," he chuckled pulling his arm away and sitting up straight. His cooling fans whirred more noticeably. "In my academy days before I met Ariel. I ah...overcharged on high grade following exam week. We tried a group merge. Four femmes and myself. My spark was powerful even then and apparently drew a rogue essence to it. Only I didn't know it."

"Then how?"

"I reported to medical for a morning after sludge cleaning of my pipes. Medic on duty recognized the odd medical coding. Had a gift for tracking and recognizing oddities in our race. It was fate that I got him," he traced patterns across the recharge berth material. "He kept it totally discreet."

"They transferred it to a femme," more a statement than a question.

"Yes. She had been trying for a sparkling with her mate but his coding never engaged fully. He had taken heavy spark damage in an accident. Could merge but only partially. The medics were unable to help them."

"And they kept it?"

"Yes and the secret of its origins, or my half at least," Optimus chuckled. "The essence turned out to be a handful of a mech the few times I saw him. The medic never spoke of it that I know of and once I met Ariel I kept the secret from her. I had processed confiding to her what happened but feared driving her away. I loved her from our first conversation," he became solemn.

"There's more to it isn't there?"

"Once I became Prime the knowledge would have been scandalous and the sparkling endangered. They targeted Elita because of me and to endanger him too? No. He was a youngling in his second shell." He rose to his feet pads, gathering up the empty energon cubes.

"What was the sparkling's designation?"

"Hot Rod."

_To be continued..._


	5. Chapter 5 Trapped

Author Notes: Okay, Bumblebee and a few femmes cannot have all the fun. More pairings to come as the storyline progresses. I researched the femmes on tf wiki and yes, that is their names and general identities. More fun twists and surprises. Please review and let me know.

::means internal comms and always tagged on end with who is sending:: Autobot

**CHAPTER FIVE**

**TRAPPED**

Inside the Ark, the lights flickered then steadied then flickered again. Blue optics looked up or over as systems vented. Then the power failed, emergency systems kicking on. Weapons appeared out of subspace, sliding or falling into owner's hands as their battle computers engaged. Frustrated mechs waited, pounding on doors or searching for air conduits large enough for them as emergency seals remained intact, locking them in or out of hallways. Silence existed least attacking forces overhear their comm chatter.

::Prime to Autobots, stand down. Equipment failure not attack. Repair crews to level five. Any trapped bots in need of rescue please contact Red Alert in the command center. The power may take a while to restore. Be patient but ready in case of an attack:: Prime

Elevator B3 held between decks as Ironhide grunted, standing down his weapons. "Level five? Wheeljack again," he leaned his red armored square chassis against the wall, holding still as his optics dimmed.

"And?"

"And what 'Mia?" He grunted at his sparkmate, optics brightening.

"What did Red Alert say?" the blue armored femme asked. She leaned against the other wall of the elevator as they shared the small space.

"Didn't. I contacted Bumblebee who is safe in med bay with Firestar. Just shelled the first sparkling, a little mech. Made it before the power blew."

"Mech huh? I can't wait until ours is shelled," she smiled, moving closer. Venting softly, she leaned forward to rest against him as his arms encircled her hip plates. "Finally one of our own."

"You were lovely without carrying and are exquisite now," he whispered in her audios.

"I bet you vocalize that to all the armor wearing gun toting kick aft battle femmes."

"Only the one that captured my spark," he murmured, releasing her as his spark began pulsing. "We better find a way to capture our attention before we go slagging crazy in this tin can. Hate small spaces. Want to field strip a spare blaster?"

"I have a better processing line of code," she smirked, running her hands down his front chest plates. He grabbed them softly, holding them away.

"We cannot spark merge. I will not endanger you or our little one," he reminded. She nodded and pulled her hands free. Her engine revved as she knelt down and grabbed his codpiece, removing it swiftly.

"Doesn't mean we can't have fun," she quipped, beginning to handle his recessed interface rod.

"This is an elevator, not our quarters," his engine revved under her deft touches.

"Have we ever interfaced in an elevator before?"

"No…uhm…ahhhhh….first time to...ohhhh," he moaned as her lip plates and hands aroused him fully.

Red Alert hit the elevator camera monitor in the control room, shutting it down rapidly. "Rescue them last," he vented rapidly and wiped at his optics. "And I worried this job meant seeing injured or distraught mechs. Yeech." An incoming comm signal interrupted, allowing his churning tanks to settle. His boss was calling.

:: Situation status?:: Prowl sent, listening to Red Alert's reports before nodding. ::Trapped on level nine with femmes Flareup, Glyph and Beta. The doors are sealed and beyond our weapons capabilities::

::Those doors are double-layered blast proof sir. That is why the femme temporary quarters are there. Nearly the most secure place on the ark:: Red Alert

::I was on the design team remember? Ironhide programmed the overrides. Send him here please:: Prowl requested. Beta, the ninth femme of her line to carry the honorary name watched him the closest.

::Ironhide is unavailable, trapped in an elevator between levels:: Red Alert

::Status on his rescue team?:: Prowl

::Teams are elsewhere in the Ark and the emergency brakes engaged ensuring they are safe:: Red Alert

::They?:: Prowl

::Chromia is with him:: Red Alert stated, his mental tone containing a combination of amusement, embarrassment and uncertainty.

The Second in Command frowned, linking directly into the few powered parts of the security systems with his personal password. Less than half the elevator images displayed. He searched rapidly until movement caught his attention. Chromia had both her hands on the wall, bracing against it as she vented with wide optics. Ironhide's right hand wrapped around her chest plates and the other across her abdomen as they shifted. Panning the camera down he saw why. Legs splayed wide, Ironhide thrust in and out of her valve rapidly as purple lubricant trailed down his hips. 'How big is his rod?' he processed silently. The thrusting speed increased, their mingled sounds of pleasure heating his systems before he resolutely cut the camera feed.

Prowl groaned, resting his white armored forehead on his hands. 'I cannot believe those two. They have left nowhere unsparked. Correction, they were interfacing. Almost forgot how that feels. Slag it! Get it assembled officer,' he processed. Probability calculations ran scenarios of rescue and none of them included the concept of speed or surefire. ::I…understand. Keep me advised of any emergencies occurring off the main comm lines. I will be patient:: Prowl

::Yes sir:: Red Alert

The three femmes regarded him with concern. "What is wrong? How bad is it?"

"Minor explosion damaged a central power relay. Dampeners failed to engage and the charge fried several linkages, trapping other personnel in elevators or rooms also. No injuries reported. Teams are freeing the most critically needed personnel first and ensuring med bay is operational. Are you functional?" His question was general but his focus was on the carrying femme.

"Two earth days to go," Flareup stated."I promise to comm Ratchet should any changes occur and will let you know second."

"And I'm going to recharge," Glyph stated. The archaeometrist, studier of foreign cultures, rose to her feet pads from the chair and headed for the side room to the left. "Call me when free. I've seen enough of spaceship walls for a spark time. Need to study the natives in their habitat. How they eat, how they breed and manage to exist..." her voice stopped as the recharge door slid shut.

Flareup considered, tilting her helm to the side before taking the room to the far right of the open area. "I'm recharging in here," waving at them before closing the door.

"She's disappointed. Had a meeting with Bumblebee in three breems and could have been trapped with him. The mech the femmes want because he can create sparklings," the green and white armored femme rolled her optics in amusement.

"Any mech can combine to produce a sparkling," Prowl corrected, his attention on his datapad.

"Any? Right," she shook her helm in disbelief.

His blue optics focused on her over the datapad sitting on the table. "Any spark carrying code running mech can."

"Even you?"

"Yes. I have no desire to take a mate. The idea of sparklings intrigues me but my duty and work are priorities. Femmes find a lack of commitment unappealing. And I do believe in interfacing that is consensual and pleasurable, not for tension release only," he said.

"Translated you need a good interfacing, probably been long enough your systems are stressed," she commented thoughtfully, her blue optics intense.

"I have existed quite well without one for...a length of time." His fingers quickly tapped out lines onto his report. The earlier image of Chromia and Ironhide in their ecstasy flashed across his memory cores, heating his systems.

"You need it bad," she rose to her feet pads and approached him.

"My needs are energon and a way out of these quarters to assist with rescues," he stated, his metal fingers stumbling across the keys as she moved to stand behind him. Her armored hands slid over his shoulders and down his chest plates. The lightest of magnetic pulses across his central seam had him shuddering.

"I can stop if you want," she rubbed her helm against his before her hands moved back to his shoulder plates.

"What do you want?" he asked, watching her slid around to stand in front of him before settling onto his lap. Her aft balanced on his knees.

"Isn't it obvious?" Her optics held bare inches from his. One hand reached down to his codpiece as the other reached around to grasp the edge of his sensitive wing doors. His reply was lost under a surge of dormant coding activating. His white armored hands tightened against her back as his lip plates began roaming across her front.

In the control room, Red Alert switched off that camera monitor. His internal comm activated, calling to Hook. ::Can you take over for a couple of breems in here? Or are you needed for repairs?::

::Ratchet and Wheeljack have it covered with the sparklings. No injuries reported from the others. On my way:: Hoist sent and his green armored large frame soon filled the doorway. The other mech practically shot out of the command chair, pushing by.

"Where are you going? Rescues are all assigned and most the ship is still on emergency backups," he puzzled.

"To the wash racks, decks one through three have power. The stairs are unlocked."

"Wash racks?" he sputtered. "Now?"

"Very cold wash racks," the red and white armored security officer muttered before transforming and racing down the empty hallway.

They both missed the small flashing green light on the communications console. It was not until the shuttle entered the atmosphere that they realized more Autobots were arriving. By then Teletran One needed rebooting and it was easier to meet the shuttle than download the files from the relay satellite.

Outside the ark main entrance, Optimus took a quick head count, realizing several officers were missing. 'Ironhide is trapped and next to be rescued and Ratchet in med bay.' His optics settled on Red Alert transforming up and saluting crisply.

"Prowl is…unavailable. I am here in his place," he stated. Optimus noticed with a twinge of jealousy that his armor was spotless and clean as though freshly washed. His own red and blue armor bore signs of metal dust from helping free trapped mechs by blasting doors they could not force. His battle mask snapped together, hiding his expression. Bumblebee hobbled into sight, his leg brace barely leaving an indent on the packed dirt. Ultra Magnus roared in from the side, transforming into his bi pedal mode and saluting.

"Reinforcements for our forces? Or more femmes on the hunt?" His optics focused upward.

"Undetermined," Optimus answered. "We will know soon enough." They both glanced over at Bumblebee who looked sheepish, ducking his head and keeping his armored hands tucked behind his back.

The roar of the incoming shuttle interrupted their conversation as it slowed, hovering before settling. The Autobot symbol on the scarred up side was distinct and welcome. The hatch lowered and they waited.

Kup stepped out, his ancient green and white armored form moving slowly. The yellow detailing of his armor reflected the sunlight. "Turbo revving punks ain't bad enough you breeding the next generation?" He greeted them.

"More to listen to your experience and wisdom old friend," Ultra Magnus stepped forward, clasping his armored arm in greeting. "Anything we need to know? Minus what this situation reminds you of."

"One problem, the femmes," he jerked a stubby metal thumb towards the open shuttle hatch.

"One problem? Femmes are nothing but problems," the tall red, white and blue mech commented.

"Speak for yourself. I enjoy mine," Optimus rumbled.

"You only have one," Magnus teased, glancing down at Bumblebee. He slid behind Optimus, peering out around his thick wheeled legs like a youngling, only his horn tip showing. "What is the problem Kup?"

"Their earth names. You speak to them or have that femme commander of yours Prime," he grunted. The first shadow fell across the hatch as the femme moved into optic range. Optimus raised his hand in greeting, palm out in the traditional manner.

"Call me Discharge," she stated. No mech said a word. Her compact red heavy armored form stomped down the ramp, the mass weight nearly bending it. A mini bot size red and orange femme appeared next.

"Karmen," she identified herself. "Is the mech Blaster around?" Her spindly armor shape was unique and obviously built for communication not battle.

"On a covert ops mission, due to return shortly. We can forward a message to him or his cassettes," Optimus offered.

"No need," she chuckled. "My brother can be surprised when he returns."

"Brother?" Magnus and Optimus mouthed to each other. She slowed passing Bumblebee, her optics sizing him up and down. He held onto Prime's legs, hiding his optics as she kept going. The next femme slowly peered around the shuttle hatch edge, timidly stepping into view.

"Road Rage," she spoke softly. Her movements were slow and graceful walking down the ramp then she transformed. An angry engine revved. "Move it you rust wrecks! Femme coming through!" Her alt mode shot ahead, barely missing the other mechs as dust flew from her wheels.

"Has a processor short in her alt mode, hence her designation," Kup chuckled. "Run any bot right off the road."

"I can't handle this," Ultra Magnus groaned, covering his optics with an armored hand.

"Tighten that cable brother," Optimus teased, pretending to punch his arm. "Or the earthlings will eat you alive first meeting."

"The inhabitants eat us? Eat metal?" He sputtered, optics going wide. "You never warned that..."

"Earth slang for giving you a bad time," Bumblebee corrected as Optimus' battle mask bounced with his laughter.

The last Autobot stepped out onto the ramp, a tall young mech with orange armor and bright yellow flames painted across his chest. "Hot Rod at your service," he announced.

Bumblebee froze, his blue optics snapping up to Optimus. The slightest pause in his forward movements betrayed him. Then it passed. He reached out a blue armored hand, raising it in greeting the same as to the others.

_To be continued…_


	6. Chapter 6 Talking, teasing and touches

Author's Notes: Life has been busy tremendously. I have had the desire to write but not the time or the energy. More time issues than anything else. Please set story alert in the lower left corner at the bottom to keep up with updates as they should be more often even with five stories in progress. I do read all reviews.

Reminder: Do not eat or drink while reading and keep in mind others might be watching as you read and react. On to more smut with a working, ongoing storyline.

**ARK - LIVING QUARTERS**

**SIDESWIPE AND SUNSTREAKER'S QUARTERS**

Sideswipe glanced up as the door to their quarters opened, his hands automatically shifting to a fighting grip on the energon sword he was cleaning. The other blasters, dart throwers, blades and spikes were within grabbing distance but not as lethal in the smaller space. His twin sauntered in the main room, a content look to his faceplates. He felt for their bond, confirming it was Sunstreaker as he half walked half-swaggered into their recharge area. 'Never can be too careful with Hound's holograms, Mirage disappearing and half the mechs wanting our helms for pranks we pull on them. Ah, the joys of existence among fellow Autobots,' he processed.

Sunstreaker fell onto his berth face down before stretching his yellow armored form out. His engine purred steadily but softly. For once, dents and dirt showed on his normally immaculate armor, visible clear across their room.

'And he's not complaining or threatening who ever put them there?' He processed, frowning in concern.

"Don't get worked up I'm functional," Sunstreaker raised his yellow helm to turn and look at him. "I can feel your processing from here twin of mine. The marks are the result of an interesting patrol and I will be in the wash racks after a quick recharge cycle. Wore out and need a breem to recover."

"What happened? Another 'Con attack? Why didn't you call me? I never heard the alarm," Sideswipe complained, sliding the sword back into its hidden sheath. The pulse of his spark increased with the idea of combat.

"Oh I wrestled and rolled but not any 'Con," he smirked. "We had to update the outer perimeter sensors with Teletran codes once the Ark's power steadied. You helped on the repair teams inside the Ark, I helped with repairs outside. In addition, verify there were no Laserbeak or Ravage or other wildlife sneaking past the relays while they were offline. There was none though that paranoid security officer of ours Red Alert kept us out there looking. We both agreed it was a bumper chasing circle."

"We being?" he verbally prodded.

"I and Road Rage," he rolled onto his yellow armored side panels, back plates against the wall with his elbow plate and arm propping his upper chassis upright.

"That psycho femme? She run you off the road screaming about being in her way? Is that how you got those marks?" A smile formed on his faceplates.

"Not exactly though running her engine is the right word. Normal boring quiet bot but in her alt mode, oh yah! A real handful to keep plugged into, and all at her suggestion. Yelling for more and screaming when she got it," he smirked.

Sideswipe blinked as his twin's emotions and words registered. "You didn't!"

"Rearrange a few transform parts, she adjusted her suspension lower and we…"

"Don't tell me," his red twin groaned, hiding his optics behind his hand. "I spent all morning cleaning and preparing for battle then rescue our fellow Autobots out of store rooms and elevators and you're…."

"Pleasuring?" he suggested, rubbing at a long but shallow paint scratch down his side plating.

"Perverting," he corrected glaring at him. "Relationships between same ranks, even on different teams are allowed with the support of command officers but fooling around on patrol with a visiting femme is…"

"Hot and wild once she got worked up. Then she shifted to her bi pedal mode for the last fragging and rode me," he quipped, pointing to red paint streaks layering his yellow lower hip and leg plates.

"That's it! Wash racks right now! Go cool off that flaming spark of yours before you land us in the brig. You for conduct violations and me for not stopping you," Sideswipe ordered. He automatically checked the door to their quarters remained closed and no other bot could hear them. "Sitting in the brig for great pranks is one thing, misconduct is another."

"She suggested it, practically pinning me against a tree to show me how it could be done with her alt mode and me bi pedal first time. You didn't know what we were doing, not an obvious position. Want to? I can share the data or show you how to?"

"No!"

Sunstreaker deliberately pretended to be hurt. "Fine. Crush my little joys in life. There is more than fighting and jet judo. Same grappling and holding moves work with willing femmes you know. If they don't like it, they will tell you and you stop. It's ones like her that wear a mech out." He rolled off the berth, standing on his feet pads before going out the door with a final verbal parting shot. "And an overloading valve is an overloading valve wherever and however you access it."

"Why did I have to be twin to a spark chaser?" Sideswipe groaned as the door slid shut before returning to cleaning his weapons.

**RATCHET'S MEDICAL BAY**

"Stop fidgeting Bumblebee! Before I weld your servos down," the CMO threatened. Both of his white armored hands were transmorphed into tools, welding and repairing the damaged leg strut. The overhead lights shone brightly, illuminating the damaged metal and ragged wring.

"Ah, come on Ratchet," the young scout answered. Reclining back on the medical berth, he raised up on his elbow plates to watch. "You brought my sensors ouch! Online before owww! Finishing repairs," his optics roved to the yellow armor pieces, freshly painted and ready for installation, lying nearby on the rolling repair cart.

"That pain is nothing compared to the spark ache if a femme crashes or we lose a sparkling," he grumbled, retracting his morphed hand to reform fingers.

"You're mad at me?" he asked, his blue optics widening as his smile faded.

The medic paused, bowing his helm for a few seconds. His multi layered optics spun as he peered at Bumblebee. "Not mad, frustrated that you never asked me for advice. You should have scheduled a complete system check. The femmes too! You have no idea how wrong things could have gone!" His free hand waved through the air before grabbing a sealing unit from the cart.

"Wrong like a sparkling?" he asked softly, leaning back to stare at the ceiling. He laid straight back, careful to not turn his helm least his horn tips, both fully repaired, snag the recharge cover.

"Sparklings are never a wrong!"

The intensity of the words brought him to a half sitting position. "Then what?"

"Wrong like an overload crash, parts stuck together with wild flaring energy or a sparkmate bond activating. You could have bonded with any of them and the next merge with any but her could have been disastrous for you both! Interfacing requires working parts but merging is combining your essence and life force with another's. Not to be done with every and any femme!" Ratchet lowered his vocals, aware the volume had steadily risen with each phrase to near shouting.

"But how am I to learn which is my sparkmate?"

"Not by sparking with them! Mates are more than physical activities," the medic grumped. His regular hand steadily applied the sealing gel to the metal ends before weaving cables under and around the struts with his transmorphed fingers on the other hand.

"I understand your desire to mate but we are not human. Every merge leaves an echo of the one within your spark. It feels like excitement and revving at the time and resting after. But are you able to be the mech we need you to be? A scout that goes where others cannot and function intelligently in situations other mechs could not handle processing let alone survive? Able to focus and concentrate on what you see or hear without distraction for long periods of time without thinking of those left behind? Do you remember the first thing I told you the day I equipped you with Wheeljack's scout enhancements?"

"Scouts have the hardest job and see it all. We cannot fire back or save those trapped, only report it," his memory core supplied the words.

Ratchet nodded then waited for him to continue.

"Scouts prepare the unseen victories and pay the ultimate price when they never return, their whereabouts unknown to those left behind. They may be captured, offlined and one with the matrix or their shell parts never located," Bumblebee quoted.

"And now you have sparklings that will look to you as parental mech even as we raise them to maturity. I never want to hold a piece of broken, charred plating as your only trace that a Decepticon left behind. See the pain in their optics that echoes the pain in my spark."

**RECREATION ROOM**

Elita barely noticed him enter the room, intent on her conversation with the smaller femme. The bright armor coloring caught her peripheral vision, his energy signature identified as Autobot and non-threatening. Her main attention remained on Karmen. "Yes, you can be more useful with Teletran and updating the satellite links. But I must insist on battlefield training for all femmes under my command."

"Blaster will throw a cassette when he finds out. He has done his best to keep me out of the war. Is it really as bad as I've heard?" she asked. Her thin frame shifted as she moved, graceful and clearly not use to economizing energy or movement to avoid detection or remain hidden.

"Truly horrific gentle femme," a tenor voice broke in smoothly. Elita's blue optics focused on the young red and orange mech interrupting their conversation. A search of her memory core left her clueless to his identity even as she winced at his choice or armor colors.

"What would you know of it Hot Rod? Kup told the stories, you listened with the rest of us," Karmen teased him.

"I've seen horrors that plague my recharging times and only the beauty of your frames keep my processor stable," he said, half bowing towards them both.

Elita tilted her head, his mannerisms familiar without being able to place them. "See Ratchet or Hook then. They deal with processors, we deal with soldiers and mechs."

"I can be all the mech you need," he smiled at her, moving closer to her pink and white armored form. Karmen mumbled something about finding her datapad while walking rapidly away.

"What makes you process I need any mech at all?" Elita challenged, her chassis shifting to a combat ready stance.

"Certain activities require two willing partners. Standing back to back plate in battle, adjusting parts that are sensitive or to wash the back plates that are not easily reachable," he suggested.

The recreation room doors slid open, a massive red and blue frame filling the entrance. Optimus Prime paused inside the doorway, his optics locking on Elita and Hot Rod. He strode forward as the other mechs began backing up.

:He is going to rip that youngster apart. No one touches her for their own safety:: Mirage sent over internal comms. He took a step back from the table closest to the pair, disappearing as his cloaking field engaged.

::Is she that bad when irritated?:: Huffer asked, his smaller purple and orange form looking over the back of the long couch. Pessimistic by nature, he chose the most solid object to hide behind.

::No, he is. An enraged Optimus is unstoppable. Megatron is barely his match. Elita is the one femme you never mess with:: Mirage explained, reappearing visually by the far doors as his cloaking field disengaged. In the center of the room, the verbal sparing continued.

"An interesting offer but there is one detail your processor is missing youngling," she stated, the barest trace of a smirk on her lip plates.

Hot Rod leaned lower, matching her optic to optic. "And what would that be lovely femme?"

"She is mine and therefore off limits," Optimus baritone boomed out, his armored hand resting on the younger mech's shoulder. The others waited for the inevitable gasp of pain, the crunching of bent metal but only a rich chuckle sounded from the victim.

"She is truly beautiful and deserving of a Prime," Hot Rod looked over his shoulder at him before stepping to the side and back. Bowing from his waist plates he apologized, "Forgive me for not realizing that beauty is claimed already and by our best."

"Apology accepted. If you will excuse us, I need Elita," he said, guiding her towards the doors as the other mechs watched with dropped jaw gears and wide optics.

::He didn't...he didn't...the youngling is still functional!:: Mirage sent, stepping to press against the wall as Optimus and Elita passed him going out the door.

::Maybe for now. Wouldn't want to be him later on the obstacle course under Prime's gun:: Jazz sent, his blue visor flaring right to left with power.

**CONTROL ROOM**

Red Alert vented, his white metal fingers inches above the camera switch as he reasoned which camera to check first. "Ironhide or Prowl? They are the only two mechs still unaccounted for. About time they report for duty. Decisions, decisions. Prowl should be the safer one." Camera 14 coding activated and he stared, jaw gears going slack. The femme Beta was on her back plates lying on the floor, legs wrapped around Prowl's leg plates as he sat astride her. Both rocked with his thrusts deep into her valve. Deep revs of his engine and the tightening arch of his wing doors at the connection joints showed his peak nearing.

"They're still going!" the security mech choked out, shutting the camera down. A wave of heat washed over his frame as his own optics shuttered before opening. "Camera 12 and ohhhh." He vented at the sight. Ironhide sat on the elevator floor, leaning back against the wall, holding Chromia sideways across his lap. Her head rested against his shoulder as his red armored arm supported her close, the other wrapping around her waist plates to steady her as she recharged. It was the look on Ironhide's faceplates as he gazed at her sleeping face. "Spark mates true," Red Alert whispered, jealous for an astro second of such tenderness.

**AUTOBOT QUARTERS**

**PRIME AND ELITA'S QUARTERS**

"Were you tempted to show him your Prime strength?" she teased, hopping up onto their recharge berth.

"Not in the least. I had complete trust," Optimus stated, removing his codpiece then catching hers as she tossed it.

Elita formed a wide smile on her lip plates. "And I trust you dearest." Facing away, his faceplates heated for an astro second in embarrassment. "How did you know I wouldn't want a bot smaller or younger?"

"You never pursued Bumblebee," he teased back, climbing up onto the berth next to her. His mass took up most the space, keeping her between him and the wall.

"Oh! You are in for it now!" she threatened, wriggling her smaller fingers into the spaces under his grill.

Laughing, he caught both her hands in his, pulling and shifting to lay flat with her smaller frame on top of his. Her warming vlave aligned over his extending interface rod as their hip plates touched. "I'm thinking of adding Hot Rod to our training roster. He could use the earth experience and being around humans."

"For a scouting position? Too erratic. He is egotistical and it takes a calm system to scout," she stated, moving her lip plates down his neck armor to nip at sensitive cabling.

"No, ugghh...command. Full officer...ahhhh... training," he half moaned, pressing up against her.

"Why?" Her head snapped up to lock optics.

He vented hard, wavering to tell her and share his darkest secret and greatest hope. "I believe he has great potential and it should not be wasted. I was only a little older than him when I became Prime."

"If he becomes a Prime then I'm his parental femme," she joked then stared as Optimus systems sputtered and nearly choked under her. "Are you functional?"

"Yes love, but I need to know something. Do you want a sparkling? Truly want one of our own?" His hands griped her arms tightly as he waited.

_To be continued..._


End file.
